Book of Gates: Initial Descent
by nefret24
Summary: Discovered artifacts lead to a weekend of revelations for Jack and Daniel, notably including the unearthing of an international deadly cult and a possible new addition to the SGC. Complete First fic PLEASE R&R.
1. Prologue

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The Book of Gates Series

Hour One: Initial Descent

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. 

Professor Robert Langdon, Ph.d, is the creation of Dan Brown, author of Angels and Demons and The Da Vinci Code. Langdon is a symbologist at Harvard University and is the main character in both novels. Any references to him or his adventures in said chronicles are also not intended as infringement.

Dr. P. M. Effington, all other original characters, the story idea and the story itself are the property of the author. Dr. Effington's name (surname and first name, not her middle name or professional title) were originally used in the film _Dream Date _for the role played by Deborah Kerr. The use of the name is the only similarity and the sole reference to that film and is not the property of the author either. 

Teeny-tiny reference to the Emersons of Elizabeth Peters' series. Couldn't help myself. I don't own them either. 

Author's Note: This is my _first_ SG1 fanfic. I apologize in advance for any mistakes in chronology and characterization. Also, historical facts have been altered in the making of this fanfic. Not to mention that I can be stupid and/or lazy and get things wrong a lot. So forgive factual errors too. And lastly, forgive my OC character- I can't help that I rather like her, despite what I hope are a very few Mary-Sueish shortcomings. I also issue a warning: this is intended to be part of a _series_, so some questions will remain unanswered until subsequent stories. 

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Please be kind and review. Constructive criticism and enthusiastic prodding keep me alive and writing.

Interesting Random Fact: There really **is** an Egyptian Book of Gates. It is in twelve parts for each hour of the night and chronicles Ra's journey across the sky (and subsequently, the netherworld) before being born again as the sun each morning. 

Spoilers: Stargate the movie, The Curse, Crystal Skull, Fallen/Homecoming

Category: General, AU Season seven after Homecoming, Daniel-centric

Pairing: slight references to OC/ Robert Langdon, Sam/Jack 

Summary: Discovered artifacts lead to revelations, an international deadly cult, and a new addition to the SGC.

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"Will you depart, father Re, before you commend me?

Will sky conceal you before you commend me?

Commend me to night and those dwelling in it,

So as to find me among your adorers, O Re,

Who worship you at your risings,

Who lament at your settings." 

~ Excerpt from the stele of King Wahankh Intef II 

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PROLOGUE: Giza Plateau, Egypt, circa 12,000 BC

The villagers had built tall pyres and danced in celebration, raising their arms to the sky, creating long, distorted shadows across the sands. Beer flowed freely, distributed throughout the massive throngs of people, all exultant and celebrating their victory over demons that had plagued them for too many generations. Drums beat loudly over the sounds of laughter and enthusiastic discussion. Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow they would face the dawn free. 

Not far from the site of their rejoicing lay the pylon, fallen, brought to ground as their last triumph, now covered by large stones. The scribes would be ordered to inscribe it with the appropriate rites once the jubilation ceased in order to complete the banishment of the demons from the sky. Three men stood at its base, contemplating its smooth surface with grim countenances.

Another whoop of joy arose from the camp, shortly echoed by a hundred other voices. One of the three looked out in their direction with disgust. 

"The heathen fools continue in their revels."

Grumbled agreements met this comment, made with an eloquent sneer. 

One of his companions shot a worried look in the dancers' direction. "If they knew what we would do, they would kill us all where we stand."

"They are too ignorant to understand the true nature of the gods," the first man replied again. "Do we know yet who is appointed to inscribe these stones?"

"No. Whoever is chosen, he will be loyal to Nakte alone. Nakte is the only one who knows the location of His banishment," the third man hissed. "And Nakte son of Nafreti is not so easily deceived."

"He knows nothing," said the first man overconfidently.

"Then we should make sure we keep it that way," said the third man. "Know you the symbols, do you not?" He addressed the second man, who still remained transfixed by the light of the distant fires, a worried crease in his brow.

"Yes- yes," he stammered quickly in reply. "I have seen them used many times with the _chappa-i_. But I do not know which is the location."

"Write them all down. And then we must leave this place," the third man ordered.

"But what of Nakte?" the first man sneered. 

"He is but a man. What is that compared to a god?"

"Yes," the first hissed, an evil smile playing on his lips. "He can be killed and his soul damned, his _ka_ to walk the earth in misery for all eternity."

"No. The man who would strike at him now would soon find his own life and more importantly, his cause, forfeit. We wait, in concealment, until the time is right," the third man finished confidently, wrapping the ends of his turban around the lower half of his face and neck. 

"Ra shall rise again." 

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To be continued


	2. Chapter One

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Outside of Abusir, Egypt, present day

The two men staggered across the desert, making little progress forward as their bodies were buffeted with wind and sand. One dragged a makeshift sled behind him, the canvas covering the objects upon it flapping and protesting against its ropes.

"_Allah warabakatu_," the elder of the two muttered through his turban, wound tightly across his face.

His son, who struggled with their burden, merely grunted in reply, tightening his grip on the rope. He shot a concerned glance at his father out of the corner of his eye and was disconcerted to see him stumble over his own two feet.

"Can you make it to the truck?" he asked, worry apparent in his voice.

"I'll have to, won't I?" his father countered gruffly and plodded ahead stubbornly.

The two men finally reached their home as daylight was breaking. Katyia stood at the doorway awaiting their arrival. She clucked sympathetically at her husband and chided her son for such behavior, then shooed the latter up the stairs to shower for work while she made the former's breakfast.

He sat at the table and watched his wife's ministrations. "You are too hard on the boy."

"_Malesh._ You wouldn't dare to go out on these expeditions anymore if it weren't for Kaleel and his curiosity."

"You forget that he gets that trait from me."

"Perhaps," his wife said, giving him a small smile over her shoulder. She would not, however, refuse to let the argument drop. "But he shouldn't be doing such things when he knows he has to work in the morning. Would you see your shop in ruins?"

"Ehhh," he waved her off with a good-natured grin. "You wish him to be respectable. What a boring thing to be."

At this, Kaleel himself entered the room, smelling sweetly of soap, his hair slick and wet. He straightened his tie as his mother looked up from her skillet to give an approving nod.

"You look disgusting. In my day, we did not wear ties," his father said pointedly.

"And it's amazing Mother ever married you," his son countered with a grin, provoking a small peal of laughter of out of her. Stealing a piece of his father's toast and giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek, he left to see to the family's business- an antiquity shop in town. In fact, it had once been one of the premier shops for antiquities in the whole of Egypt before a few objects had undergone series of testing and had turned up less than genuine.

Which was to be expected, really, as their neighbor would say for years to come. Feisal Muhammud el-Garibya came from a long line of less than honest men: tomb robbers, forgers, and fences of rare merchandise, and he was ridiculously proud of that fact, something which his moralistic wife did not appreciate. Feisal himself had once been a consummate forger, specializing in votive statuary. A combination of age and his wife's influence had finally persuaded him to hang up his chisels, but he had as yet to relish his retirement. His son, now the proprietor of his shop, had to keep a sharp eye out for merchandise suddenly appearing on his shelves to tempt irresponsible and less intelligent customers. Feisal grudgingly admitted that the boy did, unfortunately, inherit his mother's morals. 

His wife set a plate of eggs in front of him. "From that insufferable look on your face, I take it the two of you found something last night?"

He waggled his heavy eyebrows at her suggestively, his mouth immediately full of food and received in return a playful swat on the arm.

"You should have the _sitt hakim_ look at that. It would be good for her, to finally do something with her time, instead of grieving in a dark room."

He swallowed and took a long drink of water, shaking his head. "You worry too much. She can handle herself."

"Then at least to make sure you don't get into trouble and your son as well."

He called her a busybody and a nag and devoured the rest of his breakfast with his customary gusto. She simply finished washing the dishes, refraining from mentioning the lady doctor's impending visit later in the week. He would find out and do as he was told later, like always. 

A couple days later, after she had arrived and paid her respects to his wife, Feisal took the doctor to a back room where his son had deposited their sled. 

"What do you think?"

She moved slowly from object to object, touching them lightly with gloved hands. When she looked up, shock and confusion were writ upon her face. 

"I've never seen anything like this."

"Never?" he asked excitedly.

"No," she frowned and his expression sobered. "Where did you find them?"

"I'll have Kaleel show you the way."

Later that evening, after driving around in circles, they had not found the site where the pieces were found.

"But that is impossible! This is the spot, I know it is!" Feisal waved his compass high in the air. 

"There's nothing here but sand," she remarked dispiritedly. "Not even a hole."

"The storm" Kaleel said, realization dawning. "It's wiped this area clean. We'll never find that shaft again."

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In the distance, carefully concealed behind fallen ruins, two men watched the three scour over the small tract of sand and shared a grim smile inside their truck. They would not find the shaft again, not if the two of them could help it. The Order had delivered harsh directives, apparently originating from the top members themselves, that the matter be dealt with quickly and quietly. If that wasn't enough to spur their members to action, there were the gruesome reports of the operative in charge of keeping the shaft itself secret; he had been found the day before in an alleyway, his throat cut, his hands cut clean off, and his face badly beaten. The authorities would not be able to confirm his identity for some time, if at all. It was of no matter. Those who knew whom he had been knew what they must do now. 

So the two men sat and watched the fruitless search continue. Shortly, their radio crackled to life and the driver quickly answered it in a whisper.

"Yes, they have returned. This time with a white woman."

__

"Have they found the shaft?"

"No, we concealed it well." They did not mention the great deal of assistance provided by the recent sandstorm.

__

"Who is the woman?"

"A friend of the family. No-one of importance."

__

"Good, good. And the reliquary's contents?"

"Will be retrieved in due time."

__

"See that they are, or you know the consequences."

As the driver returned the radio to its resting-place, his companion shifted in his seat. "Have you any idea how we'll get them back?"

"He's a well-known forger. Who could say that such things are genuine?"

"Surely, she would study them? Run tests and such?" he asked hesitantly, his fingers curling nervously over the pistol that rested on his knee.

"And conclude the same thing."

"If not?"

"Then you know the consequences," the man reiterated darkly, with a pointed look at his companion's gun.

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To be continued


	3. Chapter Two

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Stargate Command, Colorado Springs, roughly two years later

Colonel Jack O'Neill rapped on the ajar doorframe to Daniel's office, curiously watching the archaeologist shuffle papers left and right, obviously in search of something. 

It took him a few moments to look up, vaguely startled, and then muttered, "Hey, Jack," before striding across the room to search another tabletop, also scattered with papers, papyri scraps, and tablet fragments. His leather strap bag that acted as his briefcase remained open and waiting. 

"Going someplace?" Jack asked, raising one eyebrow and leaning in the doorway.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Eventually. Apparently _someone_ insisted to the general that I take 48 hour leave so I'm," he gestured vaguely with one hand, the other continuing its search through the layers atop the desk, "going home."

"Ah, yes. Where the heart is," Jack intoned solemnly, giving Daniel a dubious look as the archaeologist continued his circuit of the room. "It's your own fault, you know. All work and no play makes"

"Jack a dull boy?"

"Makes Daniel a snarky, unbalanced, caffeine-crazed workaholic! And what you said too. So. Any big plans other than laundry duty? Because me and Carter were, uh"

"You're gonna go tonight?" Daniel's head flew upwards, his voice indignant. "Sam's victory beer?"

"First things first- it is NOT a 'victory beer'-- for it to be a victory beer would be to concede that there was a"

"Victory? What would you prefer we call it- the Ass-Kicking Goblet Sweepstakes?"

"Dumb Luck. Sheer, utter, total a 'Dumb Luck' beer, if you will" the colonel enunciated spitefully. 

"I like my name better."

"Mine's more accurate. And simpler. I am deeply wounded that you would consider it anything else." He held a hand to his chest in affected indignation. 

Daniel rolled his eyes articulately. "Jack, she beat you fair and square" 

"Whatever. Look," Jack hastily interrupted, becoming irritated at Daniel's wide grin at his defeat and subsequent penance. "We're going. O'Malley's, tonight, 8 o'clock. Thought you'd want to come and lend a guy some support but _apparently_," he paused for a second to give the archaeologist a withering glare and to complete an elegant sniff, "I was mistaken."

"Sorry," Daniel grimaced at an empty coffee mug whose dregs appeared to have mutated through long time exposure to dust. 

"Yes. Yes you will be. For I shall exact retribution " he trailed off, frustrated that Daniel did not seem to be paying appropriate attention to his vague threats. 

"What the hell are you looking for?" Jack asked exasperatedly as Daniel moved back to the desk he had started at. "You can't take any translations home with you, you know that." He pointed an accusatory finger at the archaeologist. "Not so much as a _sentence_" 

"I'm not looking for a translation, Jack," came a muffled, slightly irritated reply from under a stack of papers. 

"Then **what** are you looking for?" No response. "Hello?? Earth to Daniel? **What** are you looking for?"

"Hmm? Oh an address Might as well do something useful with my time off... I have a meeting-- of sorts."

"The plot thickens," the colonel said, steepling his fingers, a la Mr. Burns and leaning back against a cluttered countertop. "Elaborate."

Daniel eyed him over the upper rim of his glasses and shook his head. "An old colleague well, not even a colleague, really looked me up. Now that I know I'm available for the next two days, I'm, uh, going to help them out, starting with dinner tonight Ha!" Daniel said triumphantly, holding up a crumpled slip of paper. "Found it." His grin slowly dissipated as he read its contents. "Jack, you ever been to _Maison de la Fleur_?"

Jack whistled at the name, knowing the restaurant's pricey and exclusive reputation. " 'Fraid I've never had the pleasure- but then I always liked eating things I could pronounce."

"I suppose a tie would be necessary?" Daniel said chagrined, looking down at his green military cargo pants and black t-shirt. 

"I think places like that require a jacket too. Keeps out the riff-raff," Jack quipped disdainfully. Quirking an eyebrow, he watched as Daniel began to quickly shrug into his jacket while shutting down his computer. 

"Let me guess- is this fellow scholar-- _female_?" Jack smirked, folding his arms across his chest self-satisfactorily.

"Nope." 

The colonel's eyebrows raised slightly. "I see. Guess he's got expensive taste. Or wants to date you." When Daniel didn't appear to be interested enough to be embarrassed, the colonel changed tack, fiddling with a small stone tablet. "I thought none of your _colleagues_ knew how to reach you here."

"Yeah. So did I," he said, straightening his glasses with a faraway look that Jack usually considered indicative of deep thought. "Huh."

"So you're leaving me at Carter's mercy for this little get-together?"

"You promised Sam a round," he said matter-of-factly, turning to zip up his briefcase. "You never know," Daniel said, slinging the bag onto his shoulder, a smirk mirroring Jack's appearing on his face, "You might just enjoy it."

Jack did not seem to be able to come up with a pithy reply to that remark. Daniel grinned to himself as he swept his coat up into his arms. "And it's a _professional_ meeting."

"Professional pro-**schmesional**. Who is this again?" he prodded following at Daniel's heels as he left his office.

"I'm not entirely certain- I only know his reputation. Doctor P.M. Effington, author of numerous books including the definitive translation of the Book of Gates, the Akkadian tablets with Hanneman "

"Please- don't list them all. I'll have Amazon do that for me when I get home." 

"He's one of the most respected individuals in a very small field, Jack. This is very exciting for me."

"Er. Well, then, good for you. I'm excited that you're excited." As they waited for the elevator, Jack eyed his friend's nervous expression and jittery hand movements. "You sure? Really, really sure?"

Daniel's glare in response sent his last hopes out the door. "Don't be such a big baby. It's just Sam."

"Just trying to help out, geez. See ya," the colonel said dispiritedly, walking off to find Carter. His only consolation was that his friend would not be having a better evening than he was anticipating, the Major's triumph in a recent footrace to the Stargate on PX3- 955 still rankling— and a night devoted to her victory over her superior unpalatable, however well-deserved. 

He sighed again, grateful at least he didn't have to prod Daniel away from his office with pointy sticks. The archaeologist had taken the order in stride, after the initial indignation; a good sign, the Colonel thought, that their descended Daniel was finally returning to his old non-ascended, work-a-holic self. And the night wouldn't be **that** bad, he supposed, reflecting upon his friend's last words before the elevator doors closed. It was a weekend off, Friday night. His VCR was in good working order, he wouldn't be missing anything there. As long as she didn't call him "old man" again, maybe, then it would be okay. Steak, beer, Teal'c, Carter in her civilian clothes (he had been hearing rumors of a leather jacket but had yet to see its appearance) yeah, it could be in the realm of fun. 

But only if he won at pool. He had a rep to maintain, after all. 

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To be continued


	4. Chapter Three

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Daniel rushed up to the maitre-d, trying to smooth out his hopelessly creased sports jacket. The slight man before him, wearing what appeared to be a ridiculously expensive suit, raised an eyebrow, lips curving with disgust. 

Great, Daniel thought embarrassed, thinking of his best suit languishing in the cleaners where he had taken it ages ago and neglected to retrieve. What a way to make a first impression on one of the preeminent linguists of his generation known for extreme seclusion. Only a handful of people had ever had the pleasure of working with him- he had taught for one year at Brown and finished the Akkadian translation before disappearing, resurfacing every now and again with a new paper or curatorial credit. 

To wit, outside of Effington's offer, very few members of the archaeological community ventured to contact him ever since he cemented his reputation for bizarre theories and alternative explanations. Daniel liked to consider himself to be open-minded. They seemed to think he was a few steps away from clinically insane. 

He had made the consummate mistake a few weeks earlier, trying to ferret out old memories that flitted back into his consciousness (the hazards of the descended, he supposed) by calling a former mentor at UCLA. Dr. Rosenfield had laughed when he learned the identity of the caller, said he had heard a rumor somewhere that Daniel had died and asked very solicitously after 'the little green men.' 

It wasn't until he hung up that Daniel remembered that the man had always been an ass. That he himself knew the truth about his profession and that Rosenfield did not offered some consolation, but not nearly enough. He could remember a time when he was the department's golden boy- as could Rosenfield. The fact that he seemed to have degenerated into a punchline did not boast his ego and he hoped in vain that his mysterious colleague hadn't listened to the more outrageous tales that seemed to have colored his reputation since his tenure began at Stargate Command. 

It's a business meeting, that's all, he said steeling himself, wishing he was still back on base. He had been swamped the past month, it was true, what with debriefing both SG-2 and SG-9 on two new and completely opposite civilizations. SG1 had been busy too: their most recent trip (home to the infamous first ever, and most likely last ever, race to and from the gate and its 100 yard distant DHD) having a plethora of new translations to add to a pile of to-be-translated work that would be inconceivable for him to translate even in ten lifetimes. His staff had been decimated during his _long absence_, partly through being terrorized by Jack and other assorted personnel, finding better (and less threatening to personal safety) opportunities elsewhere and the odd death-by-dismemberment. So he had been mostly on his own for all intents and purposes, and had burned the proverbial midnight oil for a few nights, missed a couple meals 

It had been a conspiracy, originating with Dr. Frasier and Jack and spreading to Carter, Teal'c and General Hammond, who with firmness and fatherly concern mandated the two-day rest period, with the strictest of regulations: No translations. No research. No rocks, as Jack so eloquently put it, for 48 hours. They'd manage without his constant presence, they were sure. 

At least Dr. Frasier hadn't mandated no coffee. Apparently, there still were benevolent gods out there. 

And so, he finally got the chance to take Dr. Effington up on his request to meet him. His office had been sending him practically an email a week for almost four months with hints at needing his own scholarly advice. The emails curiously always ended with a request to meet in person with usually three dates from which to choose, the last one conveniently concurring with his own mandated time-off. Resuming his former role as Doctor Jackson, normal anthropologist (a completely different specimen than Doctor Jackson, SG-1, linguistic superman who saves the universe with his wits and a zat gun) was seeming more difficult than usual, especially on the heels of the Rosenfield phone call and in such surroundings as he now found himself. 

Why the hell hadn't he proposed to meet at the museum? (Colorado Springs Art Center wasn't much, but it was a museum, at any rate. Home away from home. ) Instead, he was bumbling his way through the most expensive restaurant in their small town at his suggestion. He was already regretting allowing Effington to meet him on what he fondly now considered as his home turf and not neutral territory, like, say, the state of New York. Or maybe, a little more specifically, the Oriental Institute. Or Brown, or wherever it was that _he_ called home. 

He glanced around the dimly lit room, trying to guess which table might be his. The waiter came to an abrupt, almost military stop, causing Daniel to walk into him. "Sorry," he mumbled and followed the waiter's extended hand.

"Your table," the man said, expressionless. 

"Dr. Jackson." His name rang out in low, dulcet tones and rounded British syllables. Daniel's attention immediately focused on the speaker. A slight woman immaculately tailored in a dark suit stared back at him, a ghost of a smile on her face. She leaned forward, slightly rising from her seat to proffer a hand to him.

"Wait, I'm sorry you're Dr. Effington?" he leaned over the table to shake her extended hand, more than a little shocked. "Sorry I'm a bit late got stuck in traffic." He settled into his chair and accepted a menu from the waiter. He opened it and quickly concealed his surprised countenance behind it.

"That's perfectly alright-" she said with a slight cough. "I've already ordered drinks" she gestured to the expectant waiter.

"Oh. Sorry. Uh" Ordering drinks? When was the last time he ordered drinks? "Wine is fine," he said, looking at her glass.

"Mademoiselle is partaking of a burgundy--" the waiter obliged, launching in what seemed to herald a longish delineation of the vintage before Daniel cut him off.

"That's good, fine-- thank you," he said again, his frustration creeping into his voice, desperate to hide behind the menu as the waiter disappeared.

Silence. 

__

"Comment le saluroye, quant point ne le cognois?" she pronounced wryly. He lowered the menu to reveal his head just above the bridge of his nose. 

"_Je m'appelle Daniel Jackson_," he confirmed confusedly, lowering the menu, and almost taking down his water glass with it. Self-consciously clearing his throat, he forced a laugh, steadying his glass with one hand. 

"I meant myself. That is, you seem a bit surprised to see me."

"I was under the impression that you were a man," he said sheepishly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"It happens," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "The price one pays for anonymity. And what did you think that the 'P' stood for?"

"Peter."

"That's a favorite. Someone surprised me with Monsieur Pascal once. However. It is very interesting, to me at least, to see _you_ in person. I admit, to most people nowadays you're almost mythological. The Doctor Jackson, _homo sapientimus_." 

He chuckled again, simultaneously curious and nervous now of what kind of gossip she would bring up. "Well, all the good stuff is true."

"Of course. Though it is very interesting to see that the news of your death has been so greatly exaggerated. Indeed, I hadn't supposed you were so young."

He managed a small, wary smile. "I am wise beyond my years."

"I believe that's an understatement, Doctor. As I understand it, you are a veritable collector of academic degrees."

"Well, thank you, I guess. And you can call me Daniel, by the way." She nodded abstractly and took a delicate sip from her water glass. "On the subject of praenomens, then, what _does_ the P stand for?""

"Dr. Jackson, this is a _professional_ meeting," she said pointedly, replacing her glass with delicate precision.

"Yes, so what? Still doesn't mean you can't call me Daniel-- unless you want me to call you 'P,' or is that presumptuous?" he remarked, keeping his tone light. 

"Pricilla. And you can call me Dr. Effington," she said firmly.

He winced but quickly recovered to agree heartily. "Dr. Effington it is then."

She waited a beat, seemed to make up her mind about something, and after inhaling quickly, spoke again. "I realize this is a bit awkward."

"Yes," Daniel nodded his head vigorously, beginning to toy with the napkin in front of him, belatedly aware that his immediate agreement was no step forward to an easygoing direction. "I'm afraid that I haven't had time to keep apprised of things that is, I'm not exactly familiar with your current work"

"My erstwhile colleagues at Brown used to call me the Iron Lady. Surely you've heard about _that_."

"The Iron Lady?" He couldn't help but smile. The nickname conjured up images of someone elderly, gray hair coiled into a tight bun, the very essence of immutability: a New England scholar-spinster, the toughest living thing standing on two legs (aside from Teal'c, and he was an alien, technically). Someone like Catherine, really. It seemed somehow to fit the slight woman whose voice seemed to be much older than she was, not to mention explain the icy tension that seemed to exist between her and the university. 

And all along, he had been expecting Effington, who from all accounts was the pride of Brown's ancient studies department, dreamed up as the British scholar extraordinaire, replete with graying beard and tweeds. And maybe, in moments of fancy, a pipe. Instead, he had gotten her. Young. Short-ish. Tolerably attractive. Seemingly harmless. 

"Well, it's good that you haven't, I suppose. Strict rules, grey suits, and lectures that were tortuous, apparently. Students will be students, you know," she commented disdainfully and chose to focus on the stem of her wineglass. 

They fell silent at the waiter's approach with Daniel's glass and ordered dinner. Their silence continued after the waiter left. Daniel suppressed an urge to fidget, and failing miserably, reached out a hand to toy with his fork.

"I still don't exactly know what I'm doing here."

She chuckled wryly. "You're going to eat the dinner you ordered, I assume. I apologize-- my assistant set this up," she said in a tone that did not bode well for the assistant. He gathered that they did not get along. "I have er, been out of the country for awhile. I'm afraid she had to make plans blind- I only have so many days well, my research is a bit spread out of late." 

Her eyes darted around their dimly lit surroundings. He began to think that maybe she might be a bit uncomfortable too. "I had assumed we would meet in your office" 

(Which would of course, be fine, all well and above board, if it weren't for the fact that the office was 50 feet underground in a secure military facility and filled with artifacts from alien planets. Hmmm, best not to say that, probably.)

"It's, uh, being cleaned." 

"Ah," she said, sipping her wine and not seeming terribly convinced. (Well, yeah.) "And I gather that there is not much to your little town- delightfully out of the way and all that" (That's one way of saying 'middle of nowhere,' sure.) "Well, here we are," she pursed her lips and sat back in her chair, clasping her fingers together. "Let's make the most of it, shall we?"

They talked of her short tenure at Brown and his own days at Chicago and UCLA, his anthropology papers and her dabblings in symbology.

"Well, I suppose inter-disciplinary studies have their uses," he conceded with a smile after a long speech of hers promoting semiotics in art history, trying to piece together memories from his past that didn't include gate travel, Goa'ulds and classified documentation. Failing, he continued to ply her with questions.

"So, why teach at Brown? If symbology is really poised to become as influential as you say, if it could have such an impact on your research on early systems of writing, why not pursue it more fully? Harvard, if I'm not mistaken"

"Langdon still rules the roost there- I have no ambitions to outstrip the original 'preeminent American symbologist'," she smiled slightly, and looked away into the dim lights of the room, seemingly far away. The curious look lasted a millisecond before her dark eyes found his again, and she spoke, this time in a flat tone. 

"Brown made me an offer that seemed too good to be true. It was." There was an awkward pause and she continued with a wry smile, "Not to mention the fact that no one else wanted to teach the poor ignorant novitiates. I used to give your first dissertation to my seminar students, actually."

"Really?" His eyebrows shot upwards out of sheer amazement. "I'm flattered. I honestly didn't think anybody thought it was worth the paper it's printed on anymore."

She shrugged non-committedly. "Maybe, maybe not. The exceptionally passionate denunciation of Budge, however"

"Passes academic muster?" he smiled at her reference.

"I have heard other professionals speak of it as the only sensible thing you ever wrote," she replied frankly. 

The words, spoken as a statement of fact and without malicious intent, still stung. He scratched his upper lip absently. "So, then to get back to my original question: why are we here?"

She shifted in her seat slightly and looked away. "I've discovered something," she said hesitantly. "And I'm afraid that the consequences could be"

"Dire?" He felt a smirk appear. Melodrama always did make him sarcastic.

"Damning, controversial and possibly well, I don't know. So far it hasn't been well received. Most people think I'm just playing some sort of sick joke on them."

"Why contact me? I mean, not to say that I won't assist you in any way I can, it's just that_surely_ there are **other** people" (People who aren't the mockery of academic institutions worldwide, that is.)

"The nature of the find is such that someone of your background and talents would appreciate it. Perhaps more so than others do."

"So this is because I'm crazy," he said with a rueful laugh, unwillingly recalling disparaging comments about his scholarship from his last public lecture. 

Her lips curled into a small, tight smile. She cast her eyes down, intent on the tablecloth. 

"Must've gone through a lot of trouble to find a crazy guy. I'm not exactly listed in the phone book anymore," he said, sitting back in his chair, watching the room start to slowly sway to and fro. 

She looked up. Her eyes narrowed, but whether it was with amusement or with anger, he couldn't tell. "I know. I looked."

His eyebrows drew together in confusion and he opened his mouth to question her, interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with their dinner. He looked down at the small steak centered on his dish, surrounded on four sides by rice dumplings, almost pointing to the cardinal directions, topped with a delicately positioned sprig of parsley. Coulda got a steak at O'Malley's at least twice the size for the price they're asking, he thought testily, his frustration slowly increasing with each passing minute. 

His stomach growled and he took another large drink from his wineglass. Clearing his throat and giving his glasses a nudge, he spoke again once the waiter had retreated. "Then how?"

"I believe you left contact information, more specifically, an email address, with one Dr. Steven"

"Raynor," he sighed. After Steven's personal encounter with the Goa'uld, he had thought it was in everyone's best interests that it be kept quiet. He had fooled Steven into believing he suffered from sunstroke when Osiris had put in his (her?) personal appearance but hadn't wanted to sever contact with his former colleague completely- just in case. Daniel had provided him with an email address- to use only under incredibly unusual circumstances (and he could trust that Steven, of all people, would keep the exact age of certain Egyptian artifacts a complete secret as nothing could hinder his own career than admit that Daniel Jackson, archaeology's punch-line, was right.) 

"I will admit a certain degree of underhandedness in obtaining the address," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Steven is fortunate enough to be published- have you read his latest book?"

"Ah, no."

"_The Mysteries of the Queen's Chamber_. Sensationalism not unlike supermarket novels, sprinkled with real archaeological finds- all of which Dr. Raynor attributes to himself. I hear there's a television special in the works."

"Steven," Daniel said, dispiritedly. Always looking for his 15 minutes of fame. 

"Two of his 'great discoveries' happen to be mine. Hence the obligatory favor." She paused and looked at him for a moment over the top of her glasses' lenses. "You say you haven't been keeping up on current events- did you perhaps read a memoir by German archaeologist Herr Doktor Gunter Baegundorff, published last year?"

Daniel shook his head in the negative. 

"Ever heard of him? No? That's not surprising, he didn't actually find anything. Ever. However, he still managed to have a long, illustrious career and spent practically every summer up until he turned 87 in Egypt."

"Not much of a memoir then?"

"Depends on your taste of fiction, I suppose. What makes it interesting is whom he was acquainted with historically. He knew practically everyone that dug anywhere in Northern Africa- especially in the Giza area. Who do you know was working there around, say, 1927 to 1929?"

"Oh, geez. Been a while Quibbell was writing his book on the Saqqara third dynasty tombs, the Emersons- the younger was working then, right? But more south. Near the cataracts, I think. Firth was just appointed Chief Inspector the Langfords were there"

"Langford- the American?" she said slowly, without looking up from her entrée. 

"Yeah. Chicago school. He was an amateur, really," Daniel said evasively, "like your Dr. Baegundorff."

"Oh yes, _Lang_-ford. Right. Married a German woman, Anna was her name, wasn't it? who was a sketch artist for what was it, Tomb S2185?"

"Yes. In fact she and her small daughter Catherine were with him that season," he said cautiously.

"Catherine? Oh well, Anna Langford didn't have the master touch of Barton-Forbes, a shame really. Not to mention Sir Petrie himself, who made the visit to the Sphinx in 1928."

She complacently ate making casual comments about other German archaeologists, Petrie's wife, and other banal topics of conversation as Daniel waited with baited breath for her to explain herself and her bizarre methodology of questioning. She did not oblige him. His left eye began to twitch as his temper slowly grew. He had gone out of his way to oblige her and she ate complacently, still testing, still hesitant to divulge her information with a colleague with a tainted reputation.

Feeling slighted, he controlled a desire to lash out in fury. It was irrational, a tangent of self-directed anger for past indiscretions and insecurities. He swallowed his throat tight with emotion. He should really eat. His head, he was sure, wouldn't hurt so much if he ate. He pushed the steak slightly to one side with his fork experimentally, as if it was an alien specimen worthy of such intense study.

Eventually she placed her fork aside and made a small motion with her index finger. "Is there something wrong with your dinner?"

"Oh, no, no," he replied, topping off his wineglass again, this time not really caring when the room began to spin.

"You're not eating."

"How very observant of you."

"Well, there's no need to be rude. If you don't want to eat, fine, don't eat," she said, in her first flare of temper. 

"Rude?" His control snapped. "Dr. Effington- let me be frank with you. I may not possess what is considered to be a flawless reputation within the ranks of the academic community but I have advanced beyond the pranks of elementary school- if you have reservations about telling me the exact nature of your 'find,' then fine. But don't make me waste my time with guessing games."

"You believe you're wasting your time?" she pursed her lips thoughtfully, her fork stopped in mid-air. 

He sighed again. The first pangs of guilt struck him soundly. "I can't help you if you don't give me somewhere to start. What did you find?" he asked in more moderated tones. 

She put down her fork on her plate with a clang. "Dr. Jackson, you may take it for granted that I managed to contact you, but I assure you, **I** do not. It is clear to me, as it is to everyone else for that matter, that you have secreted yourself away in this _charming_ little hamlet all these years for a purpose."

"What are you saying?" he asked bristling again.

"That it is as difficult for me to trust you as you, I," she said coldly, crumpling up her napkin and tossing it to the side of her plate. 

Daniel ran a hand over his face. His head was beginning to throb painfully, though more from the wine or the company, he wasn't yet sure.

"Look, why don't you eat something before you fall over?"

His hands fell away from his face and he looked down at his plate, his stomach turning over. 

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Oh, hell," she muttered, getting up and half-dragging him out of his seat as his complexion went slightly pale. "Come on, the bathroom's this way," she said, half-supporting, half-dragging him in the direction of the restrooms. 

When he emerged from the men's room, having regurgitated half of a bottle of wine into the toilet, he scarcely looked much better despite his efforts to clean himself up afterwards. Sheepishly, he approached her, leaning against the opposite wall, her coat slung over her arm.

"I had them wrap up your dinner," she said, holding out a plastic bag. 

"Look, Dr. Effington" he began apologetically.

"Dr. Jackson, please. I think we've both said enough for one night," she held up a hand to silence him. "Do you have someone you can call? To drive you home?"

"I really don't see"

"And there's no reason to worry about the bill- I've dealt with it. I'm sorry to have taken up your time," she ended coldly, shrugging into her coat. She made motions to leave but stopped in the middle of the hallway. After making some kind of hand gesture as if she was carrying on a debate with an imaginary figure, she turned around again.

"You'll call someone to drive you home?"

"Uh yeah. Yes, thank you," Daniel replied, somewhat befuddled.

She eyed him for a few moments over the rim of her glasses as if she were trying to resolve something and nodded her head. She turned on her heel again, slightly wobbling off balance, then straightening and striding to the doors, this time not looking back. 

Daniel stood in the midst of the hallway, unheedful of the maitre-d's withering stare, trying to figure out what had happened to his evening. His head was still throbbing and he upbraided himself for his behavior. He wasn't really all that angry at her- she was just being conscientious about her research, as he would have been had he been in her situation. 

He shook his head with disgust and immediately regretted it. Gripping the paneling of the hallway and willing the room to stop its whirligig motion, he determined that it probably wasn't a good idea to let himself drive. Too little sleep, too much wine Ruefully he found a payphone and dialed Jack's cell.

Daniel didn't like to think about what he was going to have to say about this.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	5. Chapter Four

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"You so owe me."

"Jack- I would be happy to listen to all the various ways I shall have to grovel in the next few days but could you at least tell me them in more moderated tones?" Daniel sighed, slouching down into the passenger seat of Jack's SUV.

"You owe me big time," Jack complied, speaking in a stage whisper and pointing an officious finger at the archaeologist. 

Daniel slouched lower and tried to block out the light from passing cars' headlights. 

"I thought you **wanted** to get out of dinner with Sam?"

The colonel's mouth, open and poised to reiterate gloats, clapped shut. "I was winning at pool."

"You think you're going to win your money back?"

"I was win-NING!" Jack yelled angrily. 

"Inside voice use your inside voice" Daniel muttered, clutching his forehead.

"Coulda taken her," the colonel mumbled regretfully, knowing that his direct order to keep all of the balls on the table in their EXACT position would not be taken seriously. Teal'c and Carter were probably on their second game by now.

"Sure, Jack."

"Hey- mock not lest ye be mocked."

"You started it."

"I can't believe I ask you to take a medical stand-down and the first thing you do is get yourself drunk!"

"It was unintentional, I assure you," Daniel groaned feelingly.

"You could have gotten drunk with us--"

"And you could have still played-" 

"Ah-ah-ah!"

"Sorry- WON at pool. Yeah. Lesson learned."

They fell into silence, each thinking about their respective disappointing evenings. 

"So where was your colleague?"

"Huh?" Daniel pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"The Living God of Translating Stupid Old Stuff? Where was he while you were getting plastered?" 

"**She** was there."

"Uh-huh. I assume there's more to this story?"

"What's there to tell? He, who was in fact, a she, was there, I was there, lots of wine was there. We talked and then we argued and she told me to eat and I didn't want to and then I felt like seeing what color my stomach juices were. The end," he finished sarcastically. 

"Sounds thrilling."

"Incredibly bizarre is more fitting a description. I have the weirdest feeling that she was testing me or something interrogating, oh I don't know. I can't seem to think properly."

"The evils of drink." Jack glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Daniel was slumped over in his seat with his head in his hands. "Hey, don't fall asleep on me. There is no way in hell I'm carrying you inside. So what's this crazy lady's name anyway?"

"Pricilla."

"Ouch. No wonder she goes by an initial. So what's in the bag?"

"My $30 mini-steak," Daniel said ruefully, his stomach churning at the thought of food as Jack pulled up in front of his apartment building. He reached for the door handle and offered it up with his other hand. "Want it?"

"Sure. Why not?" Jack said, taking the bag's handles gingerly between two fingers. "Always wanted a 'mini-steak.' Is that French?"

"Yes, Jack," came a martyred sigh.

"Min-NI-steak," Jack tried experimentally speaking with an egregious French accent that made Daniel wince. "Doesn't sound quite right. Missing a certain _jenais sais qua_." He paused, watching Daniel warily exit the car. "Kinda disappointed about that."

"Well, the next time I make a drunken fool of myself" he managed wryly, trying his level best not to fall over.

"Yeah. Daniel- take it easy, okay? And no rocks til Monday!" Jack shouted after the retreating archaeologist. 

After seeing Daniel disappear into the building, Jack shook the bag experimentally. "A Mi-NI-steak." Placing it carefully on the passenger seat, he drove off to see if there was yet hope for maintaining his precarious superiority over his 21C. He was going to have to eat humble pie, as per usual, he figured.

But at least _this_ time, he could blame Daniel and still relish Carter's gleeful 'I win' smile. Yes. Daniel's fault. "Brilliant. That's why I get the mini-steaks," he murmured to himself, and whistled happily for the rest of the drive back to O'Malleys. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sunday afternoon Jack meandered into the kitchen in the hopes of finding breakfast. After several minutes of scouring his cabinets he had discovered that his only box of cereal had only a few precious cornflakes and marshmellow dust settled at the bottom and that he had eaten the last of his poptarts three days ago.

Perhaps, lunch then? 

He opened his fridge and stared into its not-so-deep depths, the shelves mostly bare. Condiments, one bottle of beer left, salsa in a tupperware container and a plastic bag with _Maison de la Fleur_ emblazoned on it in gold script. 

Score. Mini-steak and beer is exactly the kind of fortification one needs for, say, a trip to the grocery store. Then there'd be more beer and snacks and television (and that never-to-be-mentioned-to-anyone-EVER _Joan of Arcadia_ tape from Friday night) all night long and he didn't have to deal with Carter being so damn perfect and unattainable or the lesser mortals that populated the SGC Excellent. 

He opened the bag and peered into it, hesitant, not quite certain of what a French mini-steak would taste like at 2pm the day after. He reached into the bag and pulled out a styrofoam box.

And a letter. Huh? He shook the bag experimentally, checking to make sure no more surprises fell out (what- no toy?), then he picked up the envelope where it had fallen on the floor. The script in the upper left-hand corner was the same as that on the bag- it must have come from the restaurant. His first thought was that Daniel had tossed his cookies on carpeting and it was a bill for cleaning. Or a gift certificate? (Come back when you're feeling better?)

Blue handwriting on the back made things more unclear. The message consisted of three digits and underneath them, what looked like a local phone number. Feeling slightly invasive (the bag was Daniel's after all, the letter must be his), he opened the unsealed envelope. 

Three polaroids spilled out onto his kitchen table. Rocks, more rocks. And hadn't he told that crazy man that that kinds of stuff was off limits this weekend! Fuming and plotting appropriate revenge, he picked up one of the pictures. Staring at it for a few moments, his stomach lurched. He quickly reached for the others to make sure he wasn't having visual hallucinations due to lack of nourishment.

Shit. That man can't keep out of trouble for 24 hours, Jack cursed Daniel inwardly and strode purposefully for the phone. This was not how he wanted to spend his Sunday. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Daniel, we have a problem."

"Jack?" Daniel swiveled on his piano bench as he answered the phone, interrupted in the midst of an intricate and convoluted fugue. "What's up?"

"You know that mini-steak you gave me?"

"What, no good? It wasn't like I slobbered all over it"

"Thank you so much for the image. No, this is about the letter that was **with** the mini-steak."

"Letter? What letter?" Daniel's stomach sank. He had felt horrible for all of Saturday and hadn't managed to track down his illusive colleague for an opportunity to apologize for his behavior. Emails had come back with an away message that Dr. Effington was out of the office for an unspecified amount of time.

Jack groaned feelingly in the phone. "Look, get yourself together and meet me at the base in a half-hour. I will then sternly reprimand you for breaking my "no work" rule, and then suggest to the general that he do the same. Right after we figure out what the hell mess you've gotten into this time."

The phone went dead and Daniel looked quizzically at the receiver. What mess? What letter? Thoroughly confused, Daniel hastily put away his sheet music and surmounted a search for his car keys.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To be continued


	6. Chapter Five

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"Am I in trouble?" Daniel asked, meeting Jack in the hallway of the SGC on their way to Hammond's office.

"You bet, Sparky. Your friend left you a little present," Jack pulled the envelope out of his jacket's inside pocket and gave it to Daniel. "I dunno, Daniel, I tell ya not to mess around with stuff, and then you go and mess around with stuff, and see what happens!"

Daniel paid little heed to his ramblings as they rounded another corner, dodging various military personnel coming in the opposite direction. All his attention was focused upon the three poloroids. 

The first appeared to be a coverstone of some kind, spanning roughly 24 inches across, according to a carefully placed ruler in the upper-most portion of the photograph. A coverstone with _Goa'uld script_, Daniel noted unhappily. The second and third consisted each of unrolled papyri, both covered from top to bottom with what appeared to be gate addresses. 

It appeared Dr. Effington wasn't exaggerating when she meant that she found something out of the ordinary. Hundreds of questions flooded his mind. 

"Just try to tell me those aren't gate addresses," Jack said.

"This is unbelievable. Nowhere except Abdyos ever had a listing"

"Well, I guess Earth is just lucky," Jack replied.

"What are we going to do?"

"Dunno. We'll see what Hammond says."

"Yeah," Daniel sighed as they entered the conference room to await the General's arrival.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Colonel, Dr. Jackson," Hammond said by way of greeting, entering the conference room, surprising the two men occupying it who had been engaged in a game of paper football. The general was attired in civvies, a particularly horrendous pair of plaid green pants with a matching sweater-vest over an Oxford shirt. His cleats tapped on the floor as he strode to the table to take a seat opposite the two members of SG-1.

He looked like he had other plans for his Sunday too. And he looked pissed.

"What is this about, Colonel?"

"Well, sir, I believe we discussed earlier an artifact-free weekend for the good doctor here," Jack started, jerking at thumb in Daniel's direction. "Which he has failed at miserably."

Hammond sat back in his chair and seemed to be controlling a rise in temper, though whether provoked by Jackson's error or the Colonel's sarcasm was anyone's guess.

Daniel cleared his throat warily. "I had a meeting with a colleague Friday night and it appears as if she managed to discover some Goa'uld artifacts that were left behind on Earth."

"Are you certain she has?"

Jack tossed the envelope with the polaroids across the table. "Looks pretty convincing to me, General."

Hammond scrutinized the pictures and heaved a sigh of regret. He wasn't going to be able to finish his golf game now. He flipped over the envelope. "What about this number?"

"The Hilton," Jack readily supplied. He had dialed it right after calling Daniel, just to make sure it all wasn't some sort of elaborate prank. "I'm guessing the other is a room number."

"Who is this colleague of yours?" Hammond asked Daniel. "How much does she know about your work here?"

"Doctor Pricilla Effington. As far as I know, she doesn't know anything about our program- she got in touch with me because of some of my early papers that I wrote prior to joining the SGC."

Hammond called to his assistant just outside the room. "Try and find anything on a Doctor Pricilla Effington and make it quick. Now, Doctor Jackson, I assume you can translate the first photograph?"

"The coverstone, yes. It's a bit blurry but it makes mention of the great and powerful Ra-"

"Our old buddy," Jack sneered.

"-and his exile into the land beyond the heavens. I'm assuming these were written after the people of Earth overthrew his rule. Apparently, he left behind some followers who naturally assumed that for their loyalty, they would reclaim honor at his right side when he returned."

"How sweet. Ra made some friends."

"Colonel," Hammond said warningly. "Dr. Jackson, what about the other two?"

"It seems to be a series of gate addresses written on papyri. If I had to guess, I'd say the papyri were housed in some sort of vessel-"

"With the coverstone on top," the general supplied.

"Exactly. It's almost like they wanted to keep a record of the possible locations of exile so that if they ever could overthrow the people of Earth-"

"They could call their old buddy back and have a real party," Jack finished, running his hands through his hair.

There was a knock at the door and the assistant came in with three file folders, distributing them amongst the three men. "There still is more information coming in, sirs. We still haven't heard back from a few key sources yet."

"Thank you," the general said abstractly, intent on the file's content.

"Doctor Pricilla Marcelaine Effington. That," Jack paused, sitting back in his chair after a few minutes of reading the hastily put together report, "is a mouthful."

Hammond, adept at tuning out Jack's running commentary, merely turned to Daniel. "Dr. Jackson, what is your professional opinion?"

"I'm certain these are genuine. From what we discussed Friday night, I think she's aware that what she found has unusual value but I'd say she's far from considering the possibility"

"She doesn't know about the Stargate, then?"

Daniel nodded his head. "She probably assumes that the Goa'uld script is simply an early variant of hieratic or semitic glyphs- a lot of my research prior to coming here centered on symbols-as-script used in the first and second dynasties. She couldn't have known that getting in touch with me had any other relevance."

"How could she have come to have these artifacts in her possession?"

"That is a valid point," Daniel answered the general's question, and ignored Jack, who rolled his eyes excessively as the archaeologist launched into a brief explanation of recent antiquity laws. "Customs would never have allowed her to take such pieces out of the country without documentation from the authorities. And the authorities wouldn't let a private citizen, even one affiliated with an American university, take such a find out of the country of origin. The only thing I can think of is that the pieces were assumed to be forgeries."

"Forgeries? Hell of an elaborate fake," Jack remarked, suspicious.

"The best ones always are. And she did mention something about the previous people she had consulted about the pieces thinking that it was a prank of some sort, that they didn't take it seriously."

"That's where you came in, I presume?"

Daniel shot Jack a disapproving look. "So technically speaking, I think we can assume they're private property at this point- that she has sole ownership of them. How she came to have them is anybody's guess. She could have dug them up herself, bought them in a bazaar"

"Do you think she'd sell them to us?" Hammond asked.

"Or trade? She could always have my stereo- if she didn't mind that the left speaker doesn't work."

"Jack-"

"No one wants to barter anymore. Eh, so big deal, she's got some addresses. I mean, we've probably been to all of them before," Jack quipped. 

"Colonel, I think it's best that all materials that pertain to this facility remain **in** this facility or in Area 51. Doctor Jackson, I want you to locate Dr. Effington and make sure she's available for the next couple of days. Find out everything she knows: where she found them, who else knows about them. Everything," he emphasized, the stern look on his face seeming a bit disjointed from his frivolous attire. "And if she's willing to part with the pieces, she can be compensated. You're dismissed."

Daniel left the conference room, taking the envelope with him. Jack only stood, and putting his hands into his bomber jacket, contemplated the General for a moment.

"What do you want to do if she won't give 'em up?"

"I don't know, Colonel. Right now I'm counting on Dr. Jackson's persuasion."

"Yeah," Jack said hollowly, trying to think how that would work out. "Green's a good color on you," he said eventually with a grin, and left the office before Hammond could reprimand him. Maybe he'd pay a visit to Teal'c, curious to see if the Jaffa actually got a hangover from drinking a pitcher full of beer Friday night. He probably was fine, thanks to Junior and his own massive bulk, but it was always amusing to hear the Jaffa's answer to the question. 

The assistant, after almost getting knocked over by the hasty exit of Colonel O'Neill, returned to the room and handed Hammond a folder. "Here you are, sir. That's the complete file. We had trouble getting COMINT to respond– it being Sunday, and all– that's why it took awhile."

Hammond nodded his thanks and then sat down to read the report again, this time with some very interesting additions.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To be continued


	7. Chapter Six

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Catherine Langford's Home, Martha's Vineyard, Virginia

The slight woman who less than twenty-four hours before had been sitting patiently in the dimly lit _Maison de la Fleur_ now sat patiently, in the same black tailored suit, in the rosy pink sunroom of Catherine Langford and her spouse, former Professor Ernest Littlefield. Her fingernails, polished clear and filed into short, round ovals, lightly tapped at the arm of the plush sofa, covered in blooming irises, daisies and rosebuds. Temporarily, she was alone, her hostess having gone off to the kitchen to see to refreshment after a series of introductions. 

She hadn't known what to expect; in fact, she hadn't even known that Langford had had children before his wife's untimely demise. Langford himself seemed to be primed to a lengthy and successful career that was abruptly cut short; he had never returned to Egypt and had dropped out of archaeology altogether, affected by grief.

Catherine Langford was undisputedly his child- her hallways were filled with faded photographs of her father at dig sites, the history of each she had learned before she was ceremoniously deposited in her current seat. And if that was so, she was the only living person, outside of nameless Egyptian workers, who remembered what happened at Giza in the winter season of 1928

Her ruminations broke off as she heard approaching footsteps. "Dr. Langford-"

"Catherine, please," the old woman said with a smile, re-entering the room. "I've just put the kettle on. It'll be a few minutes."

"Dr. Langford, I thought you might be able to shed some light on your father's work, particularly in the late 20s after your photographs in the hall were taken, that is."

"Oh, I was only a little girl then! I doubt I'd be much help," she demurred, settling down in her chair.

Dr. Effington narrowed her eyes at her. The old woman was a shrewd liar, she'd give her that. She smiled and countered in the same light tone, "But surely, you must remember something of interest? Some of the people your parents worked with?"

"I remember William Emery very well" she began and told of a very silly encounter she had had with the preeminent archaeologist several years earlier when she had been preoccupied with his youthful good looks while her father had checked up on Mond's progress at the Theban site. Dr. Effington smiled and nodded and laughed in all the right places, waiting very patiently for her to finish. 

Catherine timed the ending of her story perfectly. Just as Emery had fallen into the grave shaft due to an over-exuberant and slightly jealous child's push from behind, the tea kettle's high pitch sounded from the kitchen. She left her guest chuckling and returned to the room with a tray with two cups of tea.

"Thank you. But what of the professionals specifically at Giza in 1928? It would have only been your second dig. Are you sure you don't remember a fellow German, a Herr Doktor Gunter Baegundorff?"

"No, it doesn't-"

"He might have known your mother well- fellow Germans at the dig site and all. He is said to have been greatly affected at her funeral," Effington interjected softly, gently prodding.

"An old woman's memory," Catherine said stubbornly, reseating herself, "is a precarious thing."

Dr. Effington nodded sipping her tea, considering other tactics. She gestured at the other woman's pendant. "That's a very unique necklace you wear."

"I've had it for ages."

"A present from your father, from one of his digs perhaps?"

"Yes. In fact, he dug it up that season, I think."

"How nice. Did he find anything else with it? A gold pendant, even at Giza, all by itself, has to be an anomaly."

"Yes, well"

"It's hard to recall," Dr. Effington finished for her. She turned to her leather oversized handbag and pulled out a manila folder. "Maybe this might refresh your memory," she said, handing over a xerox of a single book page.

Catherine's hand shook as she looked at the illustration on the page. "Where did you get this?" she asked, finally.

"Baegundorff included it within his memoirs. He said an American had dug it up during the winter season of 1928. Aside from your father, there was only one other American archaeologist present- Friedman-"

"And he didn't live to see 1929," confirmed Dr. Langford. "Yes. A big, jolly sort of man, I remember him. Did Dr. Baegundorff say anything about this object?"

"He believed it to be a circular pylon. He didn't know its function, but the natives called it a _sebah ny pet_- a Doorway to Heaven. Apparently, after spending only a week with it at the site, the pylon disappeared. He was severely disappointed, for as he says, the pylon was constructed out of what he believed was a rare metal, a _biah ny biahw_, and he never had a chance to fully study it."

"Dr. Effington I'm tired. I think you should leave now."

"Dr. Langford, I apologize if I've said--" she began insincerely, desperation beginning to appear in her tone.

Catherine handed back the page. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anymore," she said coldly. 

"I'll just show myself out. I'd thank you, Dr. Langford, if I believed you."

After the woman had left, Ernest entered the room. "How was your meeting?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek. "Imagine that- scholars now dropping in on Sundays! It was a very kind gesture you made, dear, to that impertinent young lady. In our day, I doubt we would have been so bold. Hmm. Did it go well?"

She didn't move from the chair. 

"Catherine, what's wrong?"

"I need to call General Hammond. Someone else knows about Stargate."

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jack's cell phone vibrated the minute he cleared the mountain. As he saw Daniel's number flash, he cursed aloud. 

No television watching today.

After taking a deep, cleansing breath, in and out, and forcing all homicidal thoughts to the back of his mind, he answered the phone. "Daniel. What's up?"

"She's gone," Daniel said breathlessly, his phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he struggled to open the door to his car. "Checked out last night. The bell-hop remembered her- said she took a shuttle to the airport." 

"Guess she saw ya coming."

"Jack, I don't think she ever intended to stay- according to the concierge, she only booked for the one night." Opening the door, he sat down heavily in the driver's seat. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed heavily into the phone. "What do we do now?"

"Beats the hell outta me," the Colonel replied dispiritedly, looking around the empty parking lot idly. After hanging up on Daniel with some choice words and a suggestion to get back to the SGC pronto, he noticed a sprinting airman headed in his direction. 

"Colonel O'Neill! Sir!"

"Yeah?" He waited impatiently as the young officer struggled to catch his breath. 

"General Hammond on the phone, sir," he gasped, pointing to his security hutch. 

Picking up the phone, he shot a glance at the officer's open copy of _Celebrity Skin_ and as the airman flushed, spoke loudly into the receiver. "O'Neill here. Bad news, sir. Daniel says the lady has flown to points unknown," he finished with a slight turn of his lips. 

"Colonel, I just received a phone call from Dr. Langford."

"As in _Catherine_ Langford?"

"The same. Apparently, Dr. Effington just paid her a visit. She knows about the Stargate."

"What? How? Did Daniel?"

"As far as I know, Colonel, she figured this out entirely on her own. I have orders to have you escort this doctor from her current location to the base for further investigation. We're going to keep in touch with Dr. Langford and hopefully we'll be able to stay on top of her further movements. Take Dr. Jackson with you, he may be able to smooth things over with his colleague."

"Yes, sir." He hung up the phone and the airman, who had returned to surreptitiously reading his magazine, stood up abruptly.

"All finished, sir?"

"Yep. All done. That's a great issue, by the way," he said with a smirk. "Very intriguing news this month." With the airman stuttering, Jack left the hutch, himself temporarily distracted by the memory of a small paragraph on Mary Steenburgen. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To be continued


	8. Chapter Seven

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Providence Airport, Rhode Island

"You have no right to hold me here. Unless someone presents some identification and justification for this, I will be leaving."

"No, you will not," Jack sighed heavily, wondering what the hell had happened to Daniel.

"This is preposterous, tyrannical and and probably actionable!" 

She was losing it now, O'Neill thought, watching her pace rapidly back and forth within the confines of the small room like a caged animal. She had been much more eloquent in her indignation ten minutes ago when he and his fellow officers had first pulled her aside from the rest of the arriving passengers. Amid gaping stares from the civilians in the terminal, O'Neill with the officers, one of which led the not-too-pleased doctor by the arm lest she make some sort of scene, had appropriated a customs search room. The airmen stood guard outside the door with some very confused security personnel as Jack waited impatiently for Daniel to show. They had arrived two hours early in Providence, and instead of waiting at the nice food court like Jack had suggested, the archaeologist decided to go out on a side expedition of dubious intent with multiple promises to be back before her plane landed.

Jack could kill him. 

She seemed ready to scream and the pacing was beginning to drive him slowly nuts, as her heels clacked loudly on the tile floor.

She was fast becoming a close second. He would make a list, a neat, professional List of People Who Are Enough to Drive a Man to Murder. That is, if he could have two seconds of quiet in which to think at all. 

"Hey! Siddown, already, will ya? You're giving me a headache."

She stopped and glared at him, then stomped to sit in the only remaining chair in the room, on the opposite side of the table from him.

Then she began to tap her foot. God, if he could only find a geek that didn't fidget!

"I heard they call you the Iron Lady," he said, attempting to make conversation to distract himself from the different ways he was plotting to throttle Daniel.

She glared at him and swung her foot more violently to and fro. "Whatever it is that you want me to do this time, I won't do it."

"This time?" Jack asked, confused. 

They sat in stony silence until there was, after what seemed like two eternities to the both of them, a quick series of knocks on the door. O'Neill just smiled cheekily at her and rose to answer it. "That'd be for me."

"Dan-iel! You have some 'splanin to do!" Jack said, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, slurring in a bad Spanish accent that bore little to no resemblance to the late Desi Arnaz. 

"Dr. Jackson?" she gaped. 

"Dr. Effington, I apologize for this. Jack, you weren't supposed to--"

"You were late. If it hadn't been for me, she'd be off to god-knows-where by now," Jack said, pointing at accusatory finger at the seated woman.

"You can't treat her like a criminal! She hasn't done anything wrong!"

"She's getting awfully tired of being talked about while she's in the room, " she said, wryly, shifting in her seat. "Dr. Jackson, I am entitled to an explanation."

"Dr. Effington, I received the pictures."

"The artifacts aren't smuggled in my luggage, if that's what this is about."

"Are they yours?" Jack asked bluntly.

"Yes. The pieces all have the proper documentation," she countered quickly as if anticipating an imminent dispute. "I can produce --"

"No, we don't dispute the ownership of the pieces," Daniel said gently, cutting her off. "It's the content, more specifically, that we're interested in."

"We? Am I to understand that that merciful little pronoun covers the entirety of the US government?"

"More like just the Air Force."

"Air Force?" her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What would the Air Force "

"We're a special branch of the Air Force," Daniel supplied helpfully. 

"Hey, hey, hey! Classified!" Jack burst in, waving his hands.

"The Airforce has branches?" she raised a bewildered eyebrow.

"Ja-ack, we have to tell her something." Daniel whispered aside to his friend with an exasperated sigh.

"Not **every**thing, _Dan-iel_."

"Well, the truth does tend to make things less complicated later on-" 

"Daniel, we don't have to do anything except sequester those rocks indefinitely," he whispered sternly. 

"Excuse me, gentlemen, if you don't mind," she interrupted their conference, her voice dripping with disdain. "Charge me with whatever, or release me. I've had enough of vague explanations and threats." She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms with an air of finality. 

Both men attempted to speak at once and a small verbal battle ensued, each deferring to the other. Jack, as usual, gave up on politeness first, having become severely irritated by Jackson and, to a lesser extent, the General, the lady geek and the downhill spiral his weekend had yet to finish. 

"Just- oh would you- please!" Jack held up a hand to silence the loquacious archaeologist, babbling away in a hushed voice steadily growing louder. "Let's just take her and her things back to base and deal with this there. The security guys are probably getting antsy out there," he commented, jerking a thumb at the closed door to the conference room.

"That's just what I was going to suggest," Daniel nodded in agreement.

"Great minds and such." Shooting a sidelong glance at their charge, he frowned. "I saw that!"

"What?" she feigned innocence, knowing he saw her eyebrow raise in extreme skepticism at his previous comment. She smiled slyly and picked up her coat and purse. "Let's go then. Off to the hollow mountain we go."

"I wouldn't joke about things like that," Daniel said, _sotto voce_ as she walked past him out the door. "You have no idea what's in store for you."

She wobbled precariously on her high heels, stumbled, and recovered, trying very hard to suppress a flush blooming on her face. Feeling very confused and slightly scared, she silently followed the two men out to the tarmac to their private military jet, with an entourage of airmen trailing behind them carrying her luggage and large guns. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They watched silently as the man in the leather jacket escorted the woman to the plane, a slighter man and a legion of Air Force officers accompanying them. 

"What's going on?"

"I'm not entirely certain. Your camera, do you still have it?"

The second man worked at undoing the straps to his bag as his companion watched the figures approach their cars.

"The one, I've seen him before."

The second man squinted through his camera lens. "Yes, she had dinner with him, didn't she?"

"Get the other one too."

"All done," the shorter man replaced his apparatus into his bag. "What do you suppose that was about?"

"I don't know. Two Near Eastern scholars with questionable reputations and a private plane courtesy of the United States Air Force?"

"Dykker won't be happy," he said, recalling their most recent radio transmission with their superior.

"No," the other man replied shortly. "He won't." 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To be continued


	9. Chapter Eight

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"We've searched through all her belongings, sir. There are no other pictures or artifacts in her possession."

"You checked everywhere?" ONeill asked the staff sergeant reporting.

"Yes, sir. She did have a laptop computer in her luggage but it's encrypted. We have some people looking at it now, sir. According to them, sir, it has a security program on it that's pretty heavy-duty, sir. There's something on it she doesn't want anyone to see."

"Thank you, sergeant. Dismissed." 

Daniel looked up from where he was seated, drumming his fingers loudly as a weak form of protest. "Don't you think that was a bit uncalled for?"

"Daniel-"

"We haven't even told her what she's here for! We've violated, like, I don't know, ten civil liberties in the past half hour!" Daniel gestured wildly. He calmed himself down and folded his arms tightly across his chest. "Look. It's not like I don't understand the necessity of a degree of secrecy, but we're going to have to tell her something, Jack."

"Let me see if I can impress upon you my view of this little imbroglio you've gotten us tangled in," Jack began in a tight, soft voice that Daniel recognized as one indicative of the colonel's rising temper. "One: Someone gets in touch with you, someone who by your own account, does not know you personally, or even _vaguely_ for that matter, but manages to get a hold of you whereas most of the wide world believes that you're dead or untraceable."

"She explained that-"

"A-ah-ah! Let me finish! Secondly: she is in possession of Goa'uld stuff-"

"Artifacts."

"Whatever, which she shouldn't have in the first place, wherever the hell it was that she picked them up- which you will presently be in charge of finding out."

"You want me to interrogate--"

"Thirdly, she herself has a questionable and oddly mysterious background what with this recluse thing and the masquerading-as-a-guy thing"

"She never that was just a silly mix-up"

"Finishing here!" Jack yelled impatiently. "And lastly, and this is the one that you really oughta pay attention to: she and now subsequently- possibly, we, were being followed by a couple of shady characters who looked like they were carrying concealed."

"What? I didn't see anybody!" Daniel gaped for a few seconds. 

"You weren't there, remember?" Jack said testily. "Where the hell did you go, anyway?" 

"I stopped over at Brown to see if I could find her assistant."

"Wait- I thought she didn't teach anymore?"

"She's still considered adjunct faculty. She has an _office_, Jack. How many times do I have to tell you, Effington translations are a big deal. They're a modern standard."

"Ooh, how prestigious. I'm trembling in my socks. All this glory and yet no one can figure out that he's a she? Real brainiacs you are." 

"If you're that good, you don't need to go on the lecture circuit," Daniel commented archly, pissed that Jack was unfortunately right. "Anyway, back to my main point: I caught the assistant just as she was leaving for the day. She didn't know anything about Effington's current research. Except for the Baegundorff thing."

"The _what_ thing?"

"There was this German archaeologist who did very little of anything really in the 1920s, who just died and had his memoirs published. According to the assistant, the book is trash- recounts more of the man's romantic affairs with native women than it does of scholarly finds of any kind- though all of his were pretty minor at that."

"Please tell me this has a point."

"She brought it up at dinner. The assistant says she asks practically everyone about it ever since the damn thing got published a year ago. Almost obsessively so."

"And? So? Point being?"

"I think there's a connection."

"Between the dirty old man's memoirs and her Goa'uld rocks?" Jack shook his head and ran a hand across his tired face. "Whatever. That can be your headache. All I was saying is: the woman was being tailed. Thus, we are not the only ones who know that the good doctor found something she shouldn't have. And **thus**, comprising this facility."

"Oh boy," Daniel sighed heavily, crossing his arms. 

Jack sighed. "I have to brief the General on what's going on. You," he pointed a stern finger at the archaeologist, "get down to the VIP room and find out what you can. I'll be there in a bit."

"I thought I was on medical leave."

"DANIEL. Your mess, remember?"

"Yeah, going," Daniel agreed worriedly, drawing his eyebrows together. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Dr. Effington, we meet again," Daniel said cheerfully, entering the room with two steaming hot cups of coffee.

She did not move from her seat on the opposite side of the room. "You've got a hell of nerve doing this to me," she stated coldly. 

He deposited the cups onto a table and drew up a chair towards where she sat. Sitting down and clasping his hands in front of him, he attempted reconciliation. "Dr. Effington," he sighed her name sadly, "I realize you've been badly mistreated. And I am very sorry. But believe me when I tell you that none of this," he gestured to the nondescript surroundings of the room, "is a long-standing arrangement."

"Well I should hope not!"

"But it is unfortunately necessary."

"Necessary? To confine a citizen against her will, to have a military escort abscond with her person and her belongings to some remote outpost, to have her belongings rifled through (for I am sure that is what you are doing at present), all without legal representation or any kind of explanation at all?"

Daniel looked at her for a moment, then got up to retrieve a coffee cup. "Want one?"

"Coffee- no," she said in the same cold tone, glaring at him. "An explanation, yes."

He sighed again, and took up his former position, steeling himself with a couple large sips from his steaming cup. "There is only so much I can tell you before I get myself into more trouble than I'm already in. It has to do with the photos you gave me- the artifacts."

"I told you before--" she began to rifle through her purse. "I have papers right here, signed by the Director himself" She flung a series of papers at him spitefully. "In black and white."

He hastily collected the papers and with a slight nudge to his glasses, read over them quickly. Everything correct and above board. The pieces were hers. Antiquities of little value, stones and papyri His eyes grew wide as he read the document more closely.

"This says you own thirteen papyri. The photos only showed three," he said hollowly.

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, looking away from him. 

"Were the other nine like the three you showed me? Did they use the same system of pictographs?" he asked urgently.

She returned her gaze to him, her eyes narrowing as if she were attempting to read his face. Reluctantly, she nodded slowly. "Yes. They did." She seemed to expect a reply to this confirmation. 

"And-where are the artifacts now?" 

She huffily turned away again.

"Doctor Effington, this is extremely important. Where are these pieces?"

She glared at him peripherally. "Safe."

"O-kay," he sighed heavily. "Let's try something else. Where did you find them?"

She stared resolutely at the opposite side of the room, her lips tightening down upon each other, stubbornly refusing to speak.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Daniel exited the VIP room to join Jack in the hallway.

"So, how goes it?"

"Outside of the odd fit of rage and the silent treatment, just fine," Daniel sighed wearily, flattening himself against the opposite wall and tilting his head all the way back.

"That well, huh?"

"My one consolation is that she hates you more than me," Daniel remarked, closing his eyes before tilting his head and rolling his shoulders experimentally. "What did the General say?"

"He's very concerned about the tail. Could be NID. If it had been them, they wouldn't have needed to follow us, they've of known we were headed back here. If it wasn't, then let's hope that their trail went dead. Does she," the colonel nodded his head toward the closed door, "know anything about 'em?"

"We haven't broached the subject as yet. Jack- there were more papyri. Thirteen in all," he handed over the papers she had produced to him.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Jack said, rifling the papers violently. "Okay, okay. Let's go," he pushed Daniel in the direction of the door.

"Hello again!" Jack said cheerily, following Daniel into the room. She scowled eloquently at him. "You know, if you do that often enough, your face'll freeze that way."

She muttered something in Mittlehocdeutch, which Daniel recognized as a particularly scathing insult to one's manhood. He opted not to translate it for Jack and merely cleared his throat loudly. "Okay. So we're all here."

"Right," reiterated Jack, clearing a slightly confused expression. "So then, you're going to answer some questions for us, and if you're nice, we'll answer some for you and then we'll all get to go home. Sound like a plan? Good," he said without waiting for comment, clapping his hands together loudly. "I'll go first, since I thought of the game. Where did you find the artifacts?"

"Egypt." Daniel was surprised to find that she answered him so readily. 

"You're gonna need to be a bit more specific than that," Jack said sweetly.

"And you should have delineated that as one of the rules. My turn," she replied in the same saccharine tones. She turned to Doctor Jackson. "Are the pictographs on the papyri a narrative?"

Daniel looked to Jack who merely threw his hands up in the air. "No," he replied.

Her eyes grew wide. "But the coverstone-"

"A-ah-ah! My turn," Jack interrupted, mimicking her. "Where _specifically_ in Egypt did you find them?"

"Specifically?" she asked, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Jack repeated incredulously.

"I do not know the exact provenance, no," she continued, and decided to elaborate upon seeing Jack struggle with his temper. "But in the vicinity of Abusir. That's near Giza, where the pyramids are," she added patronizingly to Jack. She turned to Daniel again, her voice tinged with excitement. "The glyphs on the coverstone **are** different, aren't they? Is _that_ a separate pictorial language then?"

"Yes. Why don't you know the exact provenance?" Daniel asked, taking Jack's turn for him.

"Because as I told you before, Doctor Jackson, I am not an archaeologist. I am a linguist. I was not the one who dug them up."

"Don't like getting your hands dirty, huh?" Jack interjected. 

She ignored him. "By the time I was made aware of them, any traces of the dig site were wiped out by a sandstorm."

"Oh, how terribly convenient for you."

"Having, of course, both the abilities to foretell the future and control the weather, I knew that it would irritate you."

"If you didn't find them originally, then who did?" Daniel asked, ever the peacemaker.

"It's my turn and I wouldn't answer that question even if you did pull out the thumbscrews," she said indignantly. "Do you think I would want them to suffer the same hospitality?" she gestured at the sparse room. She was quiet for a moment, choosing her next words wisely. "Doctor Jackson, if you can read it, and I assume that you can, tell me what the coverstone says." 

Daniel shifted his weight in his chair uncomfortably. "But- I don't remember without the photograph" he turned to Jack, questioningly. How the hell do I get out of this? he telepathed. 

"Oh, I've had enough of this game," he said bitterly. 

"You thought of it," she countered dryly.

"Look, obviously, you and Daniel can play twenty questions on your own time and have lots of fun doing so. I have an issue of security to deal with here. Now you can talk to me or to Daniel, but either way you're going to tell us everything you know about those pieces, where they've been, who you've told about them, EVERYTHING, you got it?"

"You are really the most smug, presumptuous-"

"Listen, lady! When I say security, I'm not just talking about my health! I'm talking about yours too," he pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his bomber jacket. It was a printout of the feed from the airport security cameras, showing two slightly blurry and sinister countenances. He unfolded it and thrust it into her hands.

"Recognize either one of them?"

She nodded no, a confused crease appearing across her forehead.

"Well, you should. They were following you back at the airport and were it not for the evasive tactics of yours truly, they would have followed you here. You're welcome, by the way."

She seemed startled and glanced down again at the paper, slightly shaking in her grasp. "I-I don't I don't know who these men are," she said in a choked voice. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, and shook her head. "I don't understand. You would have me believe that I don't understand what's this what's going on."

"Neither do we, exactly," said Daniel in a soft voice. "That's why we need you to cooperate with us. Please, Doctor Effington. I promise you that I will translate the coverstone for you," he vowed, eyeing Jack warily out of the corner of his eye, "if you just tell us what we need to know."

She sat with her head in her hands for a minute that seemed like a lifetime. "Okay."

"Okay?" 

"Okay," she reiterated, lifting her head to make a clearer response. "Is that offer of coffee still available?"

"Yeah, sure," Daniel said, and pulled up his chair again after passing it over to her. 

She took a few grateful sips and shuddered. Licking her lips, her gaze darted between the two men, both watching her with intent and grim countenances. 

"I first saw the pieces roughly two years ago. I was in Egypt, on personal matters, and was visiting a friend. No, I'm not going to tell you whom- this is on a no-name basis. Only if, and **only** if, you believe their personal safety could be threatened, will I give you names, understood? Good. My friend had dug up the pieces with his son- his wife asked me to take a look at them as a favor." She shook her head slowly, staring into space with a faraway look. "I had never seen anything like them"

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	10. Chapter Nine

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__

FLASHBACK- Abusir, two years earlier

"Where did you find them?" I had asked him as soon as I saw the atypical writing on the pieces. 

"I'll have Kaleel show you the way," Feisal said with a wave of his hand, slowly lowering himself to sit on a crate. "He found the shaft originally anyhow."

"He's at the shop?" I asked abstractedly, looking at the intricate carvings of the stone tablet. 

"Yes, yes, Katiya will see him respectable and me in an early grave," he groused, and shook his head. "Enough. Tell me about my find." He grinned impishly, giddy like a child with a new toy. 

"This here," I tapped at the tablet's edge, "was it covering something?"

"Yes. There was a vessel in the shaft. Not very large space, no pictures on the walls, no writing or markings of any kind. Just this little box." He gestured, holding his hand roughly two feet off the ground. 

I was crouched in the center of the room and swiveled on the balls of my feet. "Wellwhere's the rest of it?"

"Still in the shaft. A storm had picked up while we were collecting the other pieces, we had to chance leaving it behind. Besides, all those things are heavy. You can't expect an old man like me to carry all that and a heavy stone chest too?"

"Because I suppose Kaleel was simply standing around doing nothing?"

"You and my wife coddle that boy. You like his pretty face more than mine," he replied good-naturedly. "Though perhaps he and I could retrieve it later- when he shows you where it is," he suggested with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Did the box have similar writing on it?"

"No. None at all. Resting atop this were two small figurines- those there, behind the scrolls," he pointed and I picked through the plunder. They were small, shwabti statues, votives actually. 

"What's this?" I picked up a leg missing a figure. The two figures I had seen had been whole.

"There must have been a third sitting there too at one time, we found that in the dust. There's an arm- and part of a head too, I think, around here somewhere," Feisal looked dispiritedly at the storeroom, cluttered with all sorts of paraphernalia he had collected over his long years. "There was a papyrus too- the only one that wasn't inside its chest. There-" he gestured to one by my knee. "That's the one."

It was in less than pristine condition, which generally doesn't mean much when one is talking about objects that have been around for millennia, but the other twelve were. Absolutely perfect, as if they'd been rolled the day before with the ink just barely dry.

"Did you see these symbols?" Feisal asked, grabbing one of the other papyri and unrolling it. I frowned as I watched his quick movements. "Ach, I know, I know. To be careful with the paper. But you see it, no breaks," he held up the sheet to demonstrate that it remained intact. "These drawings they are like none we've found before. They are old, yes? Older than Middle Kingdom?"

"I don't know what they are," I replied truthfully, looking over the lines of tightly written script. "It could be some earlier form of glyph but Feisal, they don't look Egyptian."

"Bah! You need new glasses. You will have someone else look over them. Have them deal with that," he waved a hand at the disreputable looking scroll. 

"I will take it to an expert," I promised. "But Feisal, you know they'll ask me where I found them"

His brow clouded and he drew himself up to his full height. "My son is a respectable man. And I may have been many things, my dear sitt hakim, but not without my own sense of honor. Do you think otherwise?"

"No, but-"

"Woman! I know what they think of me. I hope they know what I think of them. You will take the pieces to the museum and we will see what we will see," he proclaimed, stalking off proudly.

His wife later helped me load the reliquary into my car.

"Thank you, Katyia," I said, brushing my hands off. "Tell Feisal I'll be over later to visit Kaleel."

"Yes, of course," she nodded solemnly, shooting a furtive glance back at the house. "My husband is a good man, you know. He always was, even when he was less than respectable."

I sighed. "I know, Katyia. But the scholars don't know **him**, or you or Kaleel. All they know is a thief and a liar."

"Good day to you, lady," she said shortly, tightly compressing her lips, watching from the threshold as I drove away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So you got the pieces from a well-known forger and antiquities thief?" Daniel looked up from his notes.

"_Alleged._ He was never formally charged with any crime. And he's retired," she replied archly. 

"I tried that once. Didn't work out," Jack said lightly, examining his fingertips. 

"Pity," she countered.

"So you had these things professionally looked at?"

"As I told Doctor Jackson, most people thought it was a joke. Writing wasn't even thought to have originated until centuries later- and even then, no papyri could have survived that long, that well-preserved Even to say that it's papyrus is to be misleading: there are organic elements found in the fibers of the paper that cannot be identified as any know plant species _in the world_. I did run some blind tests on the coverstone- potassium argon puts it at anywhere from 12 to 10,000 BC."

"And the pieces are where now?"

She hesitated, glancing at one man and then the other, weighing her options. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Aw, come on!" Jack said testily. "Fine. Then let's talk about how you know about the Stargate."

Daniel looked up at Jack in surprise. "She knows" then turned quickly to her, "You know about the Stargate?"

Her eyes grew wide but she didn't say anything. "I've never heard that term before," she said slowly.

"You visited Dr. Langford, did you not? Had a nice chat did you?" Jack said, in poor imitation of a cozy conversationalist. 

"Dr. Langford does she work for you too?" she said with a curl of her lip.

"Once upon a time."

"Retired?" she quipped with a sardonic half-smile. She stopped herself mid-quip and paused, thoughtfully, before continuing. "Just like her father, wasn't she?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jack asked, oblivious to Daniel's furious hand-gestures beckoning his silence.

She stared hard at Daniel. "So that's why he never went back to Egypt. Did his wife really die or was that all set up by the military too?"

"No," Daniel sighed resignedly. In for a penny, in for a pound. He had a feeling that they were in over their heads. It had been easy enough to wrest Goa'uld artifacts out of the hands of people who had no idea what they were. But to connect them to the gate itself that spelled trouble. 

"How fortunate for you," she commented sarcastically, before replying to Jack's unasked question. "She didn't tell me anything."

"Not anything you didn't already know, you mean."

"Are the Baegundorff memoirs involved in this?" Daniel interjected, shooting a warning look at Jack. 

She didn't reply. "He was there, wasn't he?" Daniel said, conjecturing aloud with an awed tone. "The same season that the Langfords were, the season that the Stargate was found. Winter 1928?"

She sat in silence and searched Daniel's face. "This 'Stargate' as you call it is it circular- like this?" She took Daniel's pen from his grasp and pulling off the heat protector from her coffee cup, she began to draw a rough sketch.

"Oh my god," Daniel said under his breath, watching intently as her pen sketched out the form of the gate. 

"With seven notches, at equidistant marks around the circumference?"

"Yes," he replied, his stomach sinking lower by the second. 

"And the symbols on it- are they the same as on the papyri?"

He was nodding 'yes' when he felt a jerk on his collar. "Daniel, a word?" Jack said through clenched teeth, yanking the other man out of his chair and giving him a hearty push to the other end of the room. "What part of the definition of _classified_ is unclear to you?" he hissed. 

"Jack, I'm not giving away anything that she hasn't already figured out for herself, or wouldn't have figured out soon enough. Besides, the only way she's going to tell you where those papyri are is if you're willing to compromise. Catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, that sort of thing."

"Thanks for the revolutionary tip, Mr. Diplomat."

"Not to mention your own little _faux pas_"

"Hey! At least I wasn't handing over the 'Gate on a silver platter!"

Daniel glanced over to see her surreptitiously unfolding a piece of paper and comparing it to her sketch. He walked over and glanced over her shoulder, getting a glimpse of what it was just before she hastily crumpled it in her fist.

"May I?" he asked softly, his hand outstretched for the paper.

"What? What does she have?" Jack asked, striding over, angry and ready for a fight.

She glared up at them and uncurled her palm. Daniel snatched away the paper and unfolded it, smoothing it against the tabletop with the palm of his hand. "It's an illustration of the Stargate," he confirmed. "Where did you find this?"

"Baegundorff's memoirs."

"Oh boy," Daniel sighed. "I don't suppose you have a copy on you?"

To his surprise, she turned slightly in her chair to her armbag and pulled out a small hardcover book with dozens of yellow post-its protruding from its edges. "It's my only copy. I expect it returned to me."

Daniel flipped through the book, his fingertips lightly grazing the sides of the pages. There were illustrations and photographs throughout. "He did the illustrations himself?"

"Yes. And the photographs. He fancied himself an artist. And before you ask, Colonel: no, there are no photographs of your Stargate."

Jack narrowed his eyes and had opened his mouth to retort when a series of knocks interrupted him. "**What** now?"

Striding to the door, he opened it in one violent motion to reveal a slightly startled airman from the tech department.

"Excuse me, sir, but thought you should know: we've decrypted the files. It was slow going until someone realized that the security program was just a variant of the protection software the CIA uses."

"Now that's interesting, don't you think?" Jack said, rocking contentedly on the balls of his feet, smiling in reply to the death-glare their guest was giving him. "And what did you find?"

"Well, sir, that's not for us to say. We thought we'd consult Dr. Jackson to see what he made of things," said the technician timidly. 

"Okay then. Daniel, do your stuff," Jack said with a wave of his hand to usher his friend out of the room. "Daniel?"

"Hmm. Oh, right," Daniel said distracted by the book in his hands. 

"Make yourself at home, Doctor," Jack said in saccharine tones as he closed the door on the indignant woman. 

"Jack, this is _so_... I can't imagine why we didn't consider it before," Daniel was saying as they walked down the hall, the technician leading the way. 

"Consider _what_ before?"

"That other people outside of the government knew about the Stargate before it became classified. It was excavated in the plain light of day; _anybody_ who was in the area couldn't have missed it. It was only once it was taken back to America for study that it became a secret who knows how many others out there know about it?"

"We are not telling her about the Stargate."

"I never said that we should. But, really, when you think about it, we've been ridiculously lucky that every time a Goa'uld artifact has been unearthed that we've found out about it. If it hadn't been for Steven, then we might have never even known that she had them at all. There could be who-knows-what floating around out there-- "

"Hey, Indiana, you're drooling. Look, it's not that I don't appreciate that she must have done some digging to come up with all of this stuff. I just don't care."

"Don't be an ass, Jack."

The technician led them into a lab and directed Daniel to a seat in front of a monitor that had been hooked up to the laptop. An open folder sat on the desktop, its contained files and folders in the hundreds. 

"You shouldn't have a problem accessing any of the individual files. We think that the main security program was it. Let us know if you have any problems," said the tech before leaving the two men alone.

"She wasn't kidding when she said two years of research," Daniel muttered, scrolling down the file list.

Jack squeezed both of Daniel's shoulders. "Have fun. Let me know what you find. I gotta brief Hammond in" he glanced down at his watch, "almost three hours." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. "You know there are like ten things I'd rather be doing today, right?"

"Yeah," said Daniel, entranced already in his reading.

"Right," he said, by way of leaving, slapping the doorjamb lightly and leaving the archaeologist to his work. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A little over two hours later, Jack found Daniel in the same position that he left him, his eyes intent upon the computer screen and his nose only inches away from the monitor. A half-eaten Power Bar hung in his mouth as he wrote notes furiously in one of his journals. 

"Daniel- back away a little from the screen, huh?"

"What? Oh, Jack, I can't talk don't tell me it's been three hours already?" 

"Time's up, pencils down," Jack nodded, and swiveled a chair over next to Daniel's. "So. Whadda we got?"

"Jack, this is well, it's phenomenal. She consulted everyone- and I mean, _everyone_, that she could find on this. There's loads of stuff on Baegundorff and practically a day by day account of who was in Egypt from '27 to '28"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down, there. Don't choke on your enthusiasm. Perhaps I should specify that when I said, whadda we got, I meant, what does she have about the Stargate and those gate addresses?"

"Like I was saying, Jack, everything that she could that isn't classified, she has. This is thorough. She doesn't have any images of the Gate other than Baegundorff's drawing and no other mention of it as a portal other than the first papyrus."

"The one that you read earlier?"

"Right. She has, however, collected information on practically every other kind of portal, gate, or pylon ever built in Egypt-- architectural schematics, references in literature, inscriptions"

"Thorough, I got that. What about the addresses?"

"Apparently, she did figure out that some of the signs seem to be referential to the constellations."

"I don't like the sound of this."

"BUT, she tagged it wrong. She has all the signs from the papyri catalogued and photographs of them from all angles on here. Her latest theory, dated less than a year ago, was that the papyri were records of some kind, of agricultural seasons or astronomical charts. She figured that someone was cataloging some thing, either like a Farmer's almanac or for a mystic cult- you know, divination, horoscopes, that sort of thing."

"So she doesn't know what the Gate does, then?"

"No."

"Or that it's an alien device?"

"No."

Jack sat back in his chair and sighed. "Thank god for small favors. Now all we have to do is get the papyri, upload the addresses, and say good riddance Doctor P for Pain in the--"

"Come on, Jack. Be fair. I don't think she considers you to be Mister Ray of Sunshine, either."

Jack ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, I suppose not." He stood up and cocked his head to the side. "You want to go see her? She's been demanding things left and right, and is hell-bent on getting that translation you promised her."

"Wouldn't that be _classified_?"

Jack got up to leave. "I think we would be worse off if you didn't tell her. Or at least, that's what she threatens. And it's _Colonel_ Ray of Sunshine, **civilian**."

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	11. Chapter Ten

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Daniel warily opened the door to the VIP room. It was dark- she must have turned the overhead lights off- save for a small lamp by the bed in the corner. He saw smoke curling against the lit portion of the wall.

"You can't smoke in here."

She looked at him and lifted the cigarette to her lips once more, taking a long, defiant drag that she blew out slowly from the side of her mouth. She tapped some ashes into her empty coffee cup.

"Look. I'm really very sorry about all of this," Daniel began, pulling up a chair to where she sat at the top of the bed.

"Please, Dr. Jackson. Spare me your contrition. You've got what you wanted, didn't you?" she said bitterly, gesturing to her book in his hands. 

He handed the book over wit h a sigh. "Your research is remarkable. It's a phenomenal amount of work that you've done, I can't imagine that is, I understand why you were so guarded that night."

"Will I get my computer back or is it now government property?"

"We're downloading a copy of your research files now and then you're done. All property returned and you can go on your way. I'll have to ask, but I think we might be able to fly you back to Providence free of charge. It's the least we can do," he finished apologetically.

She stubbed out her cigarette violently and looked away, shaking her head. "So that's that, then. Taking two years of my life away in a space of a weekend and you think that paying for airfare is my main concern right now?" Her voice shook with anger. "How dare you admire all that I've done when you take it for yourself, without so much as a hint of..."

She broke off abruptly, evidently struggling with her temper. He pressed her to continue. "A hint of what?"

"Dr. Jackson, I know why I've researched these objects. But, tell me, why are you so _bloody_ interested in them? Why is the US government? The Air Force, or excuse me, _a branch_ of the Air Force? What could you possibly gain by it? And how can you read a writing system that, insofar as professionals of four continents are concerned, _doesn't exist_?" 

  
"I can't"

" tell me because it's classified. Lovely," she commented contemptuously.

"Dr. Effington, I can't tell you what you need to know. It's frustrating, and I'm sorry."

"You're scared out of your wits, aren't you?" she said, her eyes scanning his face curiously. "Whatever this is, it wasn't meant to be found. Wasn't meant to be public. You're frightened of exposure. Are those two men connected with this? Are they colleagues of yours, hell-bent on containing all this information?"

He turned away slightly, becoming disconcerted at the way she could read his face. "You can't research this anymore. You can't talk about it, you can't reference it, you can't tell anyone that you've been here. We're copying your files- not destroying them. I'm sure you can appreciate the difference."

"What about the artifacts?"

"I don't know. Most likely, you will have to give them up. You will be compensated for them but not by much," he admitted truthfully. 

They sat in a painful silence, her fingers running lightly up and down the edges of her book, flicking the pages. 

"What's this?" she asked a bit later, pulling out a folded sheet of paper from her book that had disturbed her fingertip. 

"My translation of the coverstone."

She was reading it through to herself and abruptly looked up. She cleared her throat and gave him a curious look.

"What is it?"

"Did you, well, of course you did, look through all of my files" she commented abstractedly, most of her attention still on Daniel's hastily scrawled translation. 

He nodded apologetically. "I didn't have time to really read through most of them as thoroughly as I would have liked"

"And you're being completely honest with me, that this is what the coverstone says?"

"Yes. Why?"

She shook her head ruefully. "I guess that since you'll find it later anyway you remember I mentioned a papyrus that was not like the others? Found on the outside of the vessel? I did get it looked at and professionally set. The beginning and the ending are sketchy, as you might expect. But it's the only piece that was written in Egyptian and only thing I could translate. This," she held up the paper in her hand, "is what it says."

"Someone translated the coverstone into Egyptian glyphs?"

"And added to it, apparently. Your translation makes no mention of the Triad."

Daniel raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What is that?"

"You don't know?" she asked surprised. She shook her head as if she were attempting to clear away her temporary confusion. She had thought he knew everything than she did and more. "I'm not sure myself, but the papyrus says that there were three elders who were devoted to this task of returning the great god. I assume that the figurines represent these men."

"Makes sense," Daniel commented distractedly. Worry kicked in. A group of people on earth loyal to the Goa'uld? Could they possibly have expected to achieve anything?

"Though I think there was later some sort of upheaval. One of the names written on the papyrus has been inked over. Completely crossed out, like the defamation of Akhenaton's cartouches. Though I have no proof, as the statues are nameless, I think the third incomplete figure was destroyed as well."

"One of the elders had a change of heart?"

"It would appear so. Like I said, there is no hard evidence to support such a claim."

Daniel sat silently for a few moments, tugging thoughtfully at his lower lip. "Look, I'm not saying that this could happen, but I have a certain degree of clout here and I could make a suggestion that they allow you to continue your research."

"On the proviso that all my findings will go straight to this facility and nowhere else?" She didn't appear impressed. 

"It's the only way it can be. But it would allow you to finish what you started, and the information would benefit us too."

"I don't work for the military," she said coldly. "Why don't you do it? You're more qualified than I am to make an assessment of the objects anyway."

"Yeah," Daniel said dispiritedly, thinking of all of his own work that was still undone. He couldn't do it all; he was just one man. He'd try, of course, and get distracted by seven other things and probably be forced onto medical leave again and even more things would pile up

"But you've come farther than anyone else would have with these things in your possession. And you know them far better than I do. I think that makes you pretty qualified," he said, almost to himself. "Why don't you work here?"

"I told you: I don't work for the military. I will not be party to the Conspiracy to Wreck Civilization with a Ray Gun or whatever your top-secret agenda is. I don't have any desire to help make the US a bigger superpower."

"Our research is a bit removed from that" he laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime. I know it doesn't seem like it, it sure didn't when they approached me, but look, you can leave here empty-handed and never ever have to think about any of this again. Or you can find out what that script on the coverstone is." He grinned triumphantly at her.

She was torn between disgust and extreme curiosity. Eventually, she sighed and shook her head, unsure. "You're crazy."

He smiled at that, and merely said, "Think it over," before leaving the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hammond turned to Jack. "Do you believe that she presents a security threat to this facility?"

"Yes."

Daniel raised his eyebrows, wide-eyed as he entered the conference room and took at seat next to Jack. Hammond nodded slightly in his direction before giving the colonel a look of mild surprise.

"It's not that I don't like our chances of taking _her,_" Jack clarified. "The guys at the airport, however"

"The tail bothers me too," Hammond nodded solemnly. "You say that she had no idea that she was being followed?"

"None. For all we know, they could have been her shadow for two years or two days. We have no leads on positive ids- we don't even know where to begin looking."

"She mentioned something to me just now," Daniel interjected. "It got me thinking: we've been going about this assuming that her being tagged would lead to whoever they are discovering us. But what if it's the opposite?"

"That people interested in the Stargate program learned of her meeting with you?" Hammond queried. 

"She's been making the rounds with her research for two years. What if someone who knew its relevance, someone connected to us, had seen fit to make sure she didn't see anything she wasn't supposed to?" 

"I dunno, Daniel," Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "She had some pretty heavy-duty software on that computer of hers. That says to me that she knew that the information was valuable and might provoke some sort of threat."

"You're saying that because she's protective of her research that that means she's some kind of what? Spy?"

"No. But I'm very curious how she managed to get a program only licensed to ranking American military personnel on her personal computer."

Hammond passed to Jack his own folder. "There were some additions to her file since this afternoon."

Jack scanned the pages in front of him until he saw some of the revised text. "A military connection? I thought the father was just an ambassador"

"Her brother was in the CIA- Near East Ops. Died in the line three years ago in Istanbul. Apparently COMINT's been building quite substantial background records for her for some time now." 

Jack raised his eyebrows and Daniel eyed the two men bewilderedly. "And for all of us civilians, COMINT is what?"

"It's a branch of the NSA- their global recon division. They tried calling her in for a crypto consultancy several times and were turned down." 

"That's not surprising," Daniel commented, looking over Jack's shoulder and giving his glasses a nudge upwards. "Half the people at Chicago were solicited by the military- especially if they're fluent in Arabic and other Near Eastern dialects." 

Jack muttered something unintelligible under his breath about know-it-alls infiltrating the military and passed the papers back to the general. 

"All these papers seem to point to her being trustworthy enough," Hammond said, tapping the file in front of him. "So Colonel, I think we'll have to disagree- I don't think that she's a security risk to the facility at this time."

"She certainly has no love for the military," Jack remarked.

"She just hasn't gotten time to know you," Daniel murmured. "Give her some credit, Jack. She's not going to deliberately sabotage us out of spite."

"The past two years aren't sufficiently accounted for, but it doesn't point to anything alarming, given the circumstances," Hammond said and looked Jack square in the face. "And by your own account, those men could be long gone by now. We don't even have any proof that they are in anyway connected to her research or this facility. Colonel, I think it's time to let her go her own way, with the pieces or no."

"We have all the new addresses into our computer system now, lifted from off her computer," Daniel nodded in agreement. "We really have little use for the pieces themselves at this point. I think thus far she's shown that she can keep quiet about them."

"Then, thank god. Let's get her outta here," Jack sighed heavily. 

"General- if I might make a suggestion?" Daniel clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "Would you consider her for the SGC?"

"Hire her? Ha!" Jack laughed loudly. "I think she's made it pretty clear that she wants nothing more than to be rid of us. And I agree," he said. Looking at Daniel's resolute countenance, he sighed exasperatedly. "What could we _possibly_ do with her?"

"You did decimate my staff during my time away," Daniel remarked pointedly. "She doesn't know anything about geology or much about archaeology but if she handled translations I could work more on those things- it's what I'm trained for, really, like cataloguing those archaeological specimens from PX3-217 And the dig sites off-world have been totally neglected since Rothman died, Nyan has limited mobility since he's alien personnel But mainly, something about this doesn't feel right. She knows those pieces intimately and there might be something else involved here." 

He explained to Hammond and Jack what Dr. Effington had told him regarding the Triad. "It's quite possible that these elders might have left other things behind, Goa'uld technology or more addresses I know that I wouldn't want someone on the outside finding these things if they do exist. She could help us cover our bases."

"You really think this is a good idea? Letting _her_," Jack emphasized the pronoun distastefully, as if he were a child referring to sour medicine, " work here?"

Daniel nodded, looking hopefully at Hammond. "I think she'd be a great asset to the facility I just don't know if she'd do it."

The General raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Well, Doctor Jackson, you can certainly do your best to convince her," he commented, soundly less than convinced himself. Why Jackson wanted to accomplish this fool's errand was beyond him, but everything that he had read pointed to this woman being a substantive ally, though stubborn as all hell. "If she says yes, we'll give it a try. Let me know the verdict in 24 hours. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

Jack eyed him askance as they got up from the table. "You're crazy, you know that?"

Daniel smiled back, smugly. "So I've been told."

FIN.

A/N: Thus ends the first of a would-be series. A great thanks to any and all that bothered to peruse this fiction and a HUGE shout out to DJ Werrwolf, jd, and Brone Greyclaw for biting the bullet and reviewing. Thank you so much for your feedback- it was greatly appreciated.

Please read and review. 


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